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Friday, 31 December 2010

I have spent the best part of 24 hours on public transport over the Christmas period and have, on the whole, been surrounded by the total dregs of society. Public transport sucks, clue's in the name really, it's for PUBLIC use and given that 99% of the public are utter pondlife, your travel experience is going to make you want to drown things.

PUBLIC TRANSPORT ETIQUETTE;

PHONES. Mobile phones are the bane of my life and if it wasn't for my need to be in constant contact with Jay, I would happily do without one. I detest these foul little pieces of plastic, it's like they are designed to annoy everyone around them and nowhere is more evident then on trains and buses. Firstly, PUT YOUR PHONE ON SILENT. Nobody wants to be startled awake by your phone playing the banjo duel from Deliverance at ear splitting volume, you prick. Second, DON'T ANSWER YOUR PHONE. You are surrounded by strangers who really do not give a fuck what happened to you in the office yesterday or what you are getting up to this weekend. I have had to endure so many long bus journeys and all I've had to listen to is some cunt behind me moaning to some other cunt about nonsense 'You'll never guess what he said to me.... no.... no... no.... no! yeah! I know!! blah blah fucking blah....' Just don't pick up. If you HAVE to pick up, speak quietly and hurry off the phone. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD YOU EVER PUT YOUR PHONE ON SPEAKERPHONE. Fucking hell...

IPODS. IPODS have volume controls you know? You don't need to have it on SO loud that I can hear your earphones from the other end of a busy bus. I remember when i was 13 or 14 and I would get on the bus with my walkman on (fucking hell I am OLD) and I'd put the volume up as far as I could. I wanted to be 'that guy', I wanted people to know I wasn't like the rest of you fucking losers listening to 'Now that's what I call Music' Fuck no, I was listening to H2O and I was a rebel. Now it's twelve years later and I listen to St. Mannequins on a nice manageable level, thank you very much. It's called growing up (getting old). So, that being said, THERE IS NO NEED FOR YOU TO LISTEN TO ANYTHING SO LOUD ON THE WAY TO WORK THAT I CAN HEAR IT YOU ARE NOT SOME TWATTY TEENAGER. Also, never, ever, ever sing along to what you're listening to. Jeebus Christ. I don't want to hear you singing Welcome to the Jungle, I don't even want to hear Axel Rose singing it, shut up. You are in public.

NO TALKING. I'm on public transport, you're on public transport, big whoop. We don't have things in common. We WON'T get along, DON'T try to talk to me. I realise that sometimes buses get busy, and you sometimes need to sit next to people you don't know. But that is NOT an invitation to talk about your day, the weather, the news, your kids or anything in fact. Get on, sit down, shut up and keep your eyes straight ahead until your stop. I was on a coach to Leeds once, minding my own business, headphones on, and the lady sat next to me leans over with the paper to show me a story about foxes mauling two little kids. I nod and say 'yeah i heard, awful'... ERROR. Never talk back to these people, it only gives them an in. For the next hour she wouldn't shut up about how the government should have a huge cull of foxes. In the end I had to just pull my hood over my eyes and curl up on my seat until she got the message.

DON'T SMELL. It's the 21st Century. There is NO excuse for smelling nowadays. There are deodorants, roll on's, perfumes, soaps, shampoos, shower gels... HOW HARD IS IT TO FUCKING WASH?! You know you are going on public transport, you know you will be surrounded by strangers. Seriously, just have a shower.

Public transport is something we all have to endure. But if everyone plays by the rules. It will be a little more bearable.

Thursday, 30 December 2010

Lets get straight down to it, New Years Eve is the shittest night of the year! Every year I dread the inevitable anti-climax of the celebration of the date going from the 31st to the 1st...big fucking deal. The build up to the event fills me with dread, as does the incredibly unsatisfying macabre countdown that traditionally concludes this celebration of time (which in no way reflects the actual age of the planet). These are my main reasons for hating this celebration of insignificance;

New Year's Resolutions- "Ohhh in the new year I'm going to stop smoking, go to the gym 3 times a week, work harder, kick my crack habit....blah blah blah." The only significant event to occur is merely an increase in the calendar year by 1...changing lifestyle choices and habits is incredibly difficult, and attitudes do not simply change overnight. You are subconciously lying to yourself, denial ain't just a fucking river in Egypt! Also, waking up looking like a crackhead, still basking in last nights sordid shame is not exactly a good start is it? I give it til February when the realisation that your new years resolutions have been unfulfilled hits you...and I bet you don't give a fuck!

Jools Hollands NYE Hootananny- If you are sat tapping your toes to this on New Year's eve, then it is a sign that you've probably given up on life, and wish to be slowly ear fucked by an ensemble of jazzy cretins having a jam that'l have your slightly drunk socially repressed uncle rocking in his seat. I can't think of anything worse than watching Paul Mccartney smugly singing Hey Jude with Tom Jones and Cliff Richard, while Jools Holland wankily jazzes things up and Harry Enfield and Lenny Henry play the fucking tamborine...GROSS! Another particularly cringeworthy aspect of this show is that it isn't being broadcast live, and the countdown is completely staged. Watch as these BBC PG rated smugsters attempt to recreate a convincing reaction to the stroke of midnight...what a bunch of mugs!

The Final Countdown- This is the moment I dread on new years eve! The final 10 seconds of the year are spent with a room full of excitable people shrieking numbers as if they are in some way significant. As the clock strikes midnight the room morphs into a room full of broken records, repeating the words "happy new yearrrrrrr.....happy new yearrrrrr" over and over until they are cheapened and insincere.

The Final Countdown (when you're single)- I feel that this warrants its own bullet point, as the final countdown is significantly more awkward and traumatic for single people. For some reason there is an unwritten rule that you must have somebody to kiss at the stroke of midnight, and if you fail to achieve this objective you should feel depressed, and subsequently moan about how shit it is to be single. If you are one of the lucky ones that finds another equally desperate singleton....you will have an instantly regrettable grope with a complete stranger, that is only with you due to the mounting social pressure of the midnight kiss.. which will probably result in instant glandular fever or herpes. Good for you!

Nothing will change tomorrow!- Why do people think that something will magically change when they wake up in the morning? False optimism plagues people around new years eve, who trick themselves into thinking that last year's dissapointments, tragedies, break ups, embarrassments and regrets will somehow be reset at the stroke of midnight. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this will be another unpredictable year of ups and downs...there will be good times and horribly shitty times....but no amount of false hope can change the events of the future. OMGZZZZZ 2011 IS GOING TO BE AMAAAAAZINNNNNG.....(probably not).

Considering we've had 2010 year's worth of New Year's Eve, you'd think there would be a better system! My suggestion to avoid this anti-climatic event is to stay indoors, turn off the TV, put your head under a pillow and go to bed at 9pm. Until then, I hope you can squeeze some fun out of this tired tradition.

Tuesday, 21 December 2010

I really enjoy writing this blog. It helps dissipate my anger at the world that builds up day to day. Releasing a little bit of annoyance here and there means that when I get home from work I don't pour a freshly boiled kettle over my cat, or set fire to my girlfriend, or smash my hands to pieces with a hammer. It's a nice way to blow off steam.

It amazes me that people read it. Over 800 people did yesterday... that's so weird. But it also means I get shit from people that don't agree with the things Stu or I say. I've had three or four emails in the last couple of weeks from people saying 'OMG! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT, I REALLY LIKE JOURNEY!!' or 'I'M NOT FROM MANCHESTER BUT I'M IRISH SO I SUPPORT THEM CAUSE ROY KEANE'S IRISH' or 'FUCK OFF, METALLICA ARE AMAZING! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT'

My particular favourite was a text I got over the weekend, sent at 4am, from someone whose number I didn't recognise, saying 'YOU'RE SUCH A PRICK, MY BOYFRIEND WEARS V-NECKS AND HAS A CHEST TATTOO, HE'S NOT A POSER...'

BOO FUCKING HOO.

Someone on the internet said something you didn't agree with? Well what did the police say?!?!

It's the fucking internet! If you don't like it, turn it off. "Some... *sob* one...*sob* said...*sob* my...*sob* boyfriend... *sob* is a pooooserrrrrrr *sob**sob**sob**sob**sob*" Oh fuck me. If it upsets you either a) Don't read it, or b) Kill yourself. Option 'B' looks like the winner to me if i'm being honest.

So, in order; You don't like Journey, the only people who actually do are Jay Cross and Peter Minger. If the only Journey songs you can name (without looking it up) are 'Don't stop believing' and 'Anyway you want it' YOU DON'T LIKE JOURNEY.

You support United because your family is Irish?? Are you FUCKING KIDDING?! My family is Portugese, Ronaldo is a cunt and United can fuck off. Do one.

Metallica sucks, grow up.

And lastly, whoever you are, your boyfriend IS a poser AND a prick. You two are ideally suited for each other.

I thought I would end the year with something I feel extremely strongly and passionately about. Not cancer, not racism, not climate change… I fucking HATE Metallica.

With the possible exception of Red Hot Chilli Peppers, there is not a more ‘general rock’ band in the world than Metallica. A fast bit here, a ballad there, some stabs here, a solo there and sprinkle with lyrics that redefine the term ‘shit’… They are just awful.

The thing is, there are a mountain of shit bands in the world, but not all of them have the continual bumming that Metallica gets. It seems to be like a rite of passage for alternative people. Like; if you get into guitar music, you MUST like Metallica. You wake up one morning and the KERRANG! Fairy has snuck into your house and placed a copy Ride the Lightning under your pillow.

When I was 12/13 and started listening to bands, no-one in my circle of friends was into Metallica so I never got passed there CD’s. I never heard them. Then when I went to college someone mentioned them and I said I’d never really heard them. Everyone was appalled and immediately gave me things to listen to. I took them home thinking ‘FUCK, I’ve missed out on something amazing!’ Put them on my stereo and BAM! Total fucking dogshit. AS IF people like this crap?! I mean, I can understand how a 12 year old could, but seriously, anyone over that age cannot like this piss?

Do I just not get it? Is it that all these fucking long haired greebo’s in sleeveless denim jackets got into Metallica at the age of 12 and have never grown up, like sort of thrash lost boys? It’s fucking bullshit. How can you really say you love a band with lyrics like “My lifestyle determines my deathstyle” or “I'm pulling your strings, twisting your mind and smashing your dreams” It’s moronic.

On top of the fact that they suck as a band, they REALLY suck as individuals. Anyone who has seen the utter genius that is ‘Some Kind of Monster’ will know this to be true. That film is UNBELIEVABLE. What a complete set of benders those three guys are. I don’t know which one I hate most… the worlds WORST drummer/artist and all round total fucking yuppie moron, the silent guitarist who kicks his toys out of the pram when he’s not allowed to play another shit solo, or the fucking cretin that is James Hetfield; Fucking off to Russia to shoot bears and in the process missing his sons first birthday… WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!

The film revolves around the making of St. Anger. They disappear into a studio for nearly two years I think, record around thirty songs (proof, if ever it was needed, that Metallica’s music is a piece of piss to write) and then call in there management company to help decide what songs to use. I cannot believe these pricks are surrounded by people constantly kissing their asses, telling them everything they do is amazing. When what they really need is someone to pass them a handful of pills, a bottle of vodka and a plastic bag.

And if all of that wasn’t enough to make me hate Metallica, they seem to be on a continuing crusade to crucify people that illegally download music. I can’t be the only person in the world that just wants to shake Lars Ulrich and scream ‘YOU’RE FUCKING RICH ENOUGH, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU NEED MORE MONEY FOR?!?!’ And so fucking what if people download your music for free, if you wrote better records people would still go to see you live or buy your shirts from H+M, you prick.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to round up everyone that downloads Enter Sandman too. I think they should be shipped off to some island somewhere and be forced into some sort of Battle Royale fight to the death.

Monday, 20 December 2010

A "smackanory" is a tale spun by a heroin addict to try and convince you that giving them money towards whatever predicament they've found themselves in is a charitable act, and will DEFINITELY not be spent on drugs. In reality, of course it fucking will! I have been told many a smackanory in my time, most have been uninventive and plain....but some have been ridiculous!

The most common smackanory's always involve a bus fare or a phone box. You can't walk anywhere in city centre's without being approached by some "faces of meth" esque creature, still tripping his nuts off from the needle he's just shoved up his arse because he has no veins left, demanding money to fund their sordid habit. Some can be quite insistent, and won't leave you alone without an incoherent confrontation.

My favourite smackanory's have all come from the same man. A man wearing no shoes, really small shorts, a rancid leather jacket and a Status Quo t-shirt has approached me on my way home several times in the last year. Each time he forgets that he's tried to hustle me before, and tells a fucking ridiculous smackanory. These are my favourite whoppers he's told me;

He's told me in the past that he owned a factory that burned down, and he needed some money to get back to it. When I questioned him on what sort of factory it was, how it had burned down etc he told me to fuck off and sprinted away! The only thing this loser owns is a bullshit factory!

"I have to get a bus to get to the hospital cos my mum's dying in a few hours". Yeah right....and even if she is dying I'd rather not help you to create a disgusting last image for her of her decrepit skeleton of a son!

"My girlfriends locked in my car in Armley, I need a bus fare" WOW....how did you allow your girlfriend to get locked in a car? Are there no working locks from the inside? Why has nobody seen her in distress and helped to set her free? This is by far the worst story I've ever heard, and quickly crumpled under any scrutiny.

For those of you that are getting sick and tired of this bullshit, I've discovered a fun way to call their bluff and ensure that they leave you alone. Obviously don't try this if the particular skag connoseur is threatening or in any way dangerous, but if they're wasted it can be fun.I was approached by a smackhead in the Summer, where I decided to play along with the smackanory and see how far I could take it. He was obviously completely wasted, his eyes were so red that he looked like an albino, he couldn't walk straight, his face looked like a bag of smashed crabs and his arm was still bleeding. I immediately thought to myself "Don't make eye contact" and clenched my fists in case I had to punch him! He began to shout in a slurred voice "Help me! My girlfriends having a baby I need some money for the phone box!" I stupidly offered to call an ambulance on my mobile, even though I didn't believe a word he was saying. "No don't do that, just give me a couple of quid for the phone box....come on mate it's a emergency" It became pretty clear to me that he wasn't any danger to me, he was so wasted that he could barely stand. I decided that it would be amusing to humour him and see how far he'd be prepared to take the lie. I played along and said that I'd ring the ambulance on my phone, it would be easier than running all the way to a phone box. I pretended to dial the number, and proceeded to have a fake conversation with the ambulance service. I asked him questions about where she was, how far along was she, what was her name etc. After about a minute of this I told him that the ambulance was on its way. As I put down the phone he all of a sudden sprang to life, gave me a cheeky wanker sign and ran off through the park. I laughed my arse off the whole way home!On reflection I could have probably just got away from this guy by simply ignoring him, but the whole situation was incredibly satisfying. Despite the fact that I had wasted several minutes in this guys company, it felt good to call him up on his lies...and confirm my belief that it isn't a good idea to give these people money.Heroin addiction is a very sad thing, and the people that suffer this affliction often have had awful lives...but I don't think that giving them money will solve any problems. They are obviously incapable of making rational descisions, and enabling them to continue to feed their addiction is a bit like feeding pidgeons.

I could be told the best smackanory in the world....but I'm not giving you shit!

Well, well, well... where to start... what is the fucking point in this shit? Christ...

So, you're in a band with your friends. You have a few practices, you record a demo and play some gigs. But what's next? What can you do to make people think you're an awesome band? Writing better songs is a bit too hard... WAIT! GO TO THE WOODS AND GET SOME PHOTOS DONE!!! BOOM! Money making idea. But wait... "what do we wear?!" Well. You've all got tats right? Why not a v-neck! NICE.

I don't even know who I hate most, the guy who suggested it, or the people that went a long with it.Unless you're in Bon Jovi, your band does not need to do a photo shoot. If you want photos of you and your friends, I'm sure there will be plenty. Between going on tour, hanging out with each other and the 10-15 'photographers' at every gig these days, you will have plenty of pictures.

I'm not talking about photos that just happen. If you're all in the same room doing something and someone takes a picture, fine, that's just a picture. I'm taking about the above orchestrated mess, there is never a need for you to plan to go to a location, stand around in formation, looking moody and have a friend take your photo. You're not JLS, it won't convince people to listen to your music, and if it DOES, they aren't the kind of people you want listening to it in the first place.

Aren't people into alternative music always slamming pop for being image obsessed? Aren't general rock kids always moaning about the x-factor saying it just picks good looking people to make stars? Well what the fuck is this?! Why would you give a shit what a band looks like? Why would you want to see a band you like, stood around together in front of an abandoned building, covered in graffiti?? No-one has ever liked a band I've been in because we've been good looking, BELIEVE ME (then again, no-one has ever liked any band that I've been in).

And the worst part is, it leads to shit like this. LAZY FLIER MAKING.

Nothing about this flier promotes the gig, except the way the band looks. No descriptions, no artwork, no live shots, no nothing. It's basically saying 'HEY GUYS! YOU LIKE HAIRCUTS RIGHT?! WELL LOOK, THESE GUYS HAVE HAIRCUTS TOO!! YOU'LL LIKE THEM!!! COME TO THIS!!!!!'

Friday, 17 December 2010

I remember when my Dad took me to my first football game when I was 7. Swindon VS Plymouth Argyle. We got seats in the Town End, right behind the goal. We saw Shaun Taylor’s goal in the first half and then got to see Fraser Digby be fucking incredible in the second half. It was AMAZING. After that I was hooked on football and my Dad explained the rules to me ‘you support your local team, or your dad’s/mum's team’ My dad’s team was West Ham… fuck that.

So basically, those are the rules. You can’t jut decide who you want to support, Football doesn’t work like that, life just isn’t that fair. So with that being the case, there must be fucking shit load of people whose parents support Manchester United, right? No? Thought not.

The old saying is true; I have never met a United fan from Manchester. The amount of times I went to the pub in Leeds to watch a united game only to be surrounded by masses of pricks in red shirts, talking in every accent imaginable except Mancunian, was fucking ridiculous.

On the last day of tour this year we ended up in Brighton and it also happened to be the day of the Carling Cup Final. Our mate Fin is a huge Villa fan (he’s from Birmingham, that’s how it works) so we went to a pub to watch the game. Soon as we walked in, United shirts everywhere. FUCK OFF. So we started chanting for Villa, just trying to have fun. Some cockney prick turns to his mate near us and says ‘where the fuck have all the fucking brummies come from?’

Well, there’s only one mate and he’s from Birmingham. Where are all you United fans from? South London? Thought so, prick. Ever been to Old Trafford? No.

And while I’m on the subject, fuck Old Trafford. If a ground full of fans is the ‘12th man’, Old Trafford is the 12th, 13th and 14th (Ironic, considering United fans are the shittest supporters in the football league). It is almost impossible for teams to go to Old Trafford and expect a fair contest. Referees are so intimidated by 60,000+ people screaming at them that they always unfairly support the home team. Penalties are never given, fouls go unpunished and even goals are ignored (Spurs last season?). It’s ridiculous. Also, giving yourself a nickname is possibly the lamest thing anyone can do and ‘The Theatre of Dreams’ is no exception. Get fucked.

The arrogance of calling your own ground that absolutely defies belief. But then as arrogance goes, United fans are up there with the best/worst. The amount of times people have said to me ‘you only hate us because we’re the best’. No, fuck off, I hate you because I’m having this debate with someone who was born and raised in Yorkshire. YOUR OPINION ON FOOTBALL IS NULL AND VOID.

The way United fans hero worship players like Ronaldo or Cantona is hilarious, these are two of the most overrated, arrogant and petulant players in history. Diving all over the place, rolling around like they’ve been shot, screaming in referees faces, kicking out at players who tackle them… just awful, awful cunts. I remember when Swindon played United in the early 90s at the County Ground, we out played them, out battled them and generally deserved the point we got. But the whole thing was overshadowed by Eric Cantona stamping on Jon Moncur. What a fucking shit prick.

What do you call a plane carrying United players crashing on the way back from Munich? A problem. What do you call a bunch of planes crashing into Old Trafford on match day? Problem solved.

Wednesday, 15 December 2010

What? Oh, this? It’s my tour laminate! Yeah, you know, we’re just on the road so much. Travelling around, waking up in new towns, it gets sort of confusing, you know? So our manager made us these to attach to our lanyards.

Oh, right... How long are you on tour for!?

Four days

Nice one, prick. So what you’re saying is you can’t remember what you’re doing this weekend? In fairness it is quite hard to remember Stoke, Manchester, Wakefield and Hull, right? OR, is it that you just want to draw more attention to the fact that you’re in a band? As if you weren’t conspicuous enough by the fact that you’re stood behind the merch tuning up.

Or is it that you need the laminate/lanyard combo to prove to bar staff that you’re in the band? So they won’t try to charge you coming in? Is that why your ‘manager’ wrote AAA on it? Just so everyone here knows ‘Hey guys, this cool dude’s in the band, he can go where he wants. The stage, the toilet, the bar, the car park… Anywhere he wants, yeah?’

Is any of this really necessary? I mean, come on, the only people here are your shit band, the promoter, the sound guy and my shit band. And we’ve seen you before, so as soon as we’ve played we’re doing one. If you honestly can’t remember the fact that you’re playing Stoke tomorrow you are a moron and your laminate should be stapled to your head, or else attached to a piece of wool and put through your coat sleeves like children’s mittens.

But let’s face it, you do know where you’re going on tour tomorrow, you fucking booked it, you fucking poser.

Tuesday, 14 December 2010

I can't think of any other Christmas tradition that is more difficult to endure as an adult than a pantomine. The British pantomime is utterly despisable, every year it adheres to the same ideas, jokes and conventions of the previous years in a mind numbingly predictable way. The scripts are basically templates of one story, but with a few current jokes thrown in to modernise the play and mask the lack of originality.

Despite its massive shortcomings, a reported 3 million people a year will withstand a pantomime. The audience are made up of;

1. Children- Rabid children mainlining E numbers fill the theatre and scream, sob and soil themselves with excitement as they are hypnotised by the noise/colours of the show.

2. Parents bringing children- Parents are there for the "adult humour" that will feature intermittently in the script. They will smugly laugh to each other in a "oops, lets hope the kids don't understand that joke" privately cliquey sort of way.

Aside from the odd joke about something current, the only other feature to change in a pantomine every year is the cast. In an attempt to draw in more paying customers, pantomime productions always feature minor/local celebrities. The term "scraping the barrel" comes to mind when thinking of these Z listers, who you will have either never heard of or assumed dead. These "actors" are always people that have been unable to salvage their career, but seek redemption in pantomime. Oh its that bloke that was in Emmerdale, and that bird that was in Brookside....how exciting. Basically I don't give a shit if H from "Steps" is playing the genie at the the Rochester memorial hall, or if Tosh from "the Bill" is playing the fairy godmother at the Chichester festival house...its all shit!These "actors" over-act in a camp "Carry On for Kids" fashion, and take about 10 minutes to explain one simple aspect of the storys narrative as they ham it up in a desperate attempt to entertain. The panto actors work as the puppet masters of their receptive audience, siphoning cheap laughs and audience participation at the appropriate moments. They hold the crowd in their hands, who will hypnotically act as prompted to and in many ways play as much of as a part of this masquerade as these pityful jesters.

As a child it was a family tradition to attend a pantomime with my cousins, a tradition I quickly grew tired of. Our family decided it was time to stop taking us when we started throwing things at actors, shouting abuse and ruining the sexual innuendo's by confirming them with comments such as "he's talking about his nob!" I remember enjoying parts of pantomimes as a child, but as a child I enjoyed anything that was loud and featured a lot of colours....so I can forgive myself.

"IT'S BEHIND YOU!""OH NO IT IS ISN'T!"OH YES IT IS!"OH NO IT ISN.....Seriously mate its fucking behind you. Now if you're finished extracting a self esteem boost to nurse your broken career, then kindly turn around and fucking get on with it you washed up old cunt!

Monday, 13 December 2010

This weekend I finally began the joyless task of Christmas shopping. There are very few things I find more frustrating than the general public on a shopping spree. Forever pushing past you, piling in and out of shops carrying handfuls of bags, dragging around there screaming kids and generally getting in the fucking way. Shopping is already a pretty infuriating experience, but when you get rude shop assistants too, the whole thing just becomes an ordeal.

I was after a record or two so I headed straight for one of the shops on the lanes. I had only a vague idea of what I wanted to get so I flicked through the vinyl section looking for something like She and Him or BestCoastetc... I couldn't find anything. Then I realised the music on the stereo was Laura Marling. Wicked, good choice. Look for the 12", nothing there.

So I walked up to the counter, caught the eye of a particularly 'hipster' looking member of staff and said something along the lines of 'Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but do you have this on vinyl? I can't see it' - This is a pretty reasonable request, you work there, I have a question about a product you sell. But instead of saying 'No, sorry' he tossed his pen onto the counter, looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and said 'they never even released it on vinyl, mate' Then turned around and walked off... FUCK. YOU.

I've met my share of rude people, fucking hell I am a rude person, but if you work in a shop, don't get cunty when a member of the public asks you a question. Record stores and comic book shops are often the worst. It's like the people who work in them revel in the fact that they have a superior knowledge to you. I'm sorry I didn't know that record wasn't released on vinyl, but HOW WOULD I KNOW THAT?!?! You only know because you fucking work there! It's your job to know shit like that, you hipster dickhead.

I gave up after that and decided to look for something for Sam. I found something small in a little shop, took it to the counter and paid for it, I think if cost about £2 (lucky lady). I'd only just been to the cash machine and all I had was a twenty pound note, so I handed it over. I then got 'don't you have anything smaller?' when I said 'No' the sales assistant sighed and swore under her breath. FUCK YOU. YOU WORK IN A FUCKING SHOP, YOU SHOULD HAVE ADEQUATE CHANGE FOR THE DAY.

It's not my fucking fault you don't understand how retail works. Sometimes someone will buy something from you and you will need to give them change, that is part of your fucking job. Don't give me shit because you don't have sufficient money in your float. In the end she counted out 18 pound coins into my hand, sighing after every three of four, and sarcastically said 'thanks so much for coming' as I left the shop.

Sunday, 12 December 2010

I hate Jo brand, she is the epitome of everything that I find painfully unfunny in a comedienne. For those that are oblivious as to who this gargoyle is, I will briefly sum her up in the most constructive way I can. Jo Brand is a stand up comedienne that focuses her material solely on pointing out the flaws of the male gender, and talking about her weight in a comedic way. She is like a personification of the opinions of the panel of "Loose Women"! Somehow she manages to appear on panel shows, yet never says anything particularly funny or constructive.I know that I am probably not part of her audience demographic, but I find myself incensed with rage everytime I'm subjected to her mediocre wit. These are my top reasons for wanting to kick the TV everytime her dumpy face appears;

Almost 100% of her jokes revolve around male flaws and inadequacies that are so painfully obvious that they aren't worth highlighting. "Last night my husband fell asleep, snored and did a fart....." AND? Oh...that was the punchline, excuse me while my sides split. She is the female equivalent to the working men's club "take my wife" routine, which has never been funny!

Trying desperately to appear to not care about her weight. Jo Brand is constantly making references to the amount that she eats, which she believes will appear to be inspiring for other woman that have weight problems. "So last night I had a whole cake, naughty naughty! Next stop my thighs! YOU GO GIRL! If your weight wasn't an issue then why mention it every 5 minutes?

She feels the need to talk about the issue of sexism and gender equality at any given chance. I have read several interviews with Jo Brand in which she woefully claims that throughout her career she has had to fight against the patriarchal nature of the television industry in order to get to where she is now. I respect that in many ways, as she doesn't have the conventional looks that television producers predictably favour...but is it not counter productive for gender equality if she uses her position to relentlessly belittle men? I'm not saying that its not okay to harmlessly poke fun at the obvious differences between the two sexes, but to base your whole career around that....really? Sorry Mrs Brand, you're not part of the solution...you're part of the problem.

I know that women have had a pretty fucking awful time at the hands of men in the past, but I feel absoloutely no guilt for this. I was raised to respect women and treat them as my equal, so I am completely unable to relate with her supposed "feminist" rants about the way in which men foolishly objectify and interact with women. Nobody is perfect, and a few sub par fart gags do not make you a feminist icon! Give it a rest!

Saturday, 11 December 2010

Since the age of 11 getting the bus has become a part of everyday life, a part which I loath. Bus journeys alone are horrible, being awkwardly crammed into a seat next to somebody that you would probably avoid like the plaque in regular circumstances is bad enough, but there is something else that I dread in equal parts....the bus driver!Bus drivers are the designated drivers of those that wish that they had cars, and could avoid being subjected to this public toilet on wheels nightmare. They are responsible for our safety on our journeys, but in my experience have been some of the most unhelpful jobsworth minions that I've ever encountered! My top reasons for hating these tramps chaffeurs are;

Sadism- I can recall countless times when these sadistic bastards have seen me running for the bus and driven away on purpose. I hate the giant wing mirrors on buses that enable you to see the smug face of the driver as he acknowledges that he's seen you but won't stop the bus anyway. I bet he stores these memories and furiously masturbates and cries to them at night.

"We don't do change"- This is more the fault of the bus companies, who insist on living in the good old days, and not changing with the times by utilising technology such as chip and pin. The vast majority of tickets are bought with cash, why the fuck is it my problem that you're not prepared for the volume of cash transactions? I hate the sigh that a bus driver makes when you attempt to pay for a £1 ticket with a £5 note. "Uhhhhhhhhh do you not have anything smaller?" No, and I'm unwilling to go and buy something I don't need to acquire the appropriate coins that you should have in the first place you fucking moron!

Rudeness- Ok...I'm the first one to admit that I would probably struggle not to become a jaded old bastard after being forced to deal with the general public on a daily basis, but do they really have to be such jaded old bastards? Customer service is obviously not a nescessary skill to become a bus driver, being a petty old misery must be part of the job description! I hope that interaction made you feel better about your monotonous life driving around in circles all day at designated times you pathetic twat!

I know that a minority of nice bus drivers do probably exist, but for every nice bus driver there are 100 bitter jobsworth bastards that are intent on making your journey as uncomfortable as possible. The next time a bus driver disrespects me I'm going to let him have it....(by getting off the bus and not saying thanks...take that you fucking nazi!)

Friday, 10 December 2010

I am a fucking miserable dude and I fucking love being that way. There was a point in my life when I used to care about things. I used to want to want to travel, I used to read books, I used to write letters and trade mix tapes with friends, I used to go on bike rides and I used to give money to charity. I used to go into a room of strangers and try to make friends with everyone. I used to love going to shows and dancing, I used to put on shows, I even wrote a zine once.

But then, as the time went on, things changed. I stopped caring about politics and cancelled all my charitable donations. I gave away all my books. I listened to more and more bands, only to realise that they all sounded the same and no-one would ever be as good as The Ramones or Heresy. I threw away my zine before anyone could see it, I also binned my box of letters and cassettes when I realised that 99% of the people I'd ever met, like me, were total cunts.

Unfortunately, that's life and I've accepted that. You need to accept it too. What REALLY bugs me, is the people who won't let me be miserable. People who have such a niave entusiasm for life that they think everything is awesome. Who look down there nose at you when they ask you what you did today and you reply 'nothing'

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH SPENDING THE ENTIRE DAY IN BED WATCHING THE SOPRANOS ON A LAPTOP.

God fucking Damnit, LEAVE ME ALONE! Life is not some incredible gift, given to us by a higher being that we should cherish every second of. We evolved from apes that sit about swinging on a tire throwing their own shit at people who try to take pictures... So why can't I sit on my sofa all day with Lydia watching Peep Show? HOW THE FUCK IS THAT A WASTE OF A DAY?!

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH NOT GOING TO EVERY SINGLE FUCKING SHOW THERE IS. ALL THE BANDS ARE THE SAME, THEY ALL SOUND THE SAME AND THEY ARE ALL SHIT.

Good, I'm glad you're traveling to another town to see a band, wicked. Why am I not going? Because I can't be shitted to leave the house. If they play Brighton i might go, I'm not going to London.

I don't care how 'stoked on it' you are or if 'u're moshin', I especially don't care if they're 'backed hard'. I don't care if you crashed your mums computer downloading their six track practice room demo from your friends blogspot. I don't care that by not going i'm not 'supporting the scene'. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. SHUT UP.

THERE IS NOTHING WRONG STAYING IN AND DRINKING BY YOURSELF BECAUSE THE THOUGHT OF GOING OUT AND MEETING NEW PEOPLE (WHO WILL INEVITABLY BE CUNTS) MAKES YOU WANT TO DROWN THINGS.

God it pisses me off. The amount of times someone says 'your so miserable' to me (like it's a fucking bad thing). Well, yes, I am miserable, because people like you won't leave me fucking be! JESUS.

Thursday, 9 December 2010

No-one wants to work. Everyone would rather get free food and live in free houses, not having to worry about bills but, alas, life just isn’t that fair. You work, you get married, you buy a house in the suburbs, spit out some kids, lose touch with your friends, come to resent your wife and kids, begin to save all your money and dream of buying a timeshare apartment in the sun as soon as you retire at 65 and then, at 57, after finding out you didn’t get that promotion you applied for and you won’t get that 2% pay rise, you keel over at your desk and die of a heart attack. The last sound you hear is keyboards typing.

Unfortunately, this is the world we live in and it isn’t going to change. I have only been working in my new job 3 days and I am already wondering if I should just end it all now. But I can’t help but wonder that if people who work these awful jobs abide by the following rules, life would be slightly better.

• NO WHACKYNESS. As much as we all wish we weren’t here, this is a place of work. Do not cover your desk in signs like ‘You don’t have to be crazy to work here… but it helps!!!!!!’ Looking at them and laughing to yourself day after day is truly pathetic. You need to accept the fact that you are a ‘worker bee’ and are here to work, not amuse others. This also goes for novelty toys. Everyone has a life outside of work, but we don’t all force it on you. Yes, I’m sure you do like Family Guy, lots do, but that does not mean you need to have a two foot tall inflatable ‘Evil Monkey’ wearing a wig, sat on your desk. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!

• NO TALKING. As above really. I know you have a life outside of here, I do too, but I don’t want to fucking hear about it. I could write the things I give a shit about on the back of a postage stamp, and the fact that you went to see ‘Despicable Me’ last night will never be one of them. I don’t want to hear what you thought of it, I don’t want to hear if you liked it more than Up, I don’t want to know if you cried at Up, I don’t want to be involved in a show of hands around the office of ‘who else cried at Up?’ LEAVE ME ALONE. I also do not give the slightest shit about you and your partners sex life. Why is this ok to talk about in the office now?! I don’t give a shit that you fucked a guy at the weekend who had a ‘cock like a beer can’ and I don’t give a shit that you fucked ‘bonehead’ from Hollyoaks and he ‘licked his cum off you’ after. You are foul.

• NO BULLSHIT. When a group of strangers get together, they will inevitably tell stories about themselves, things they’ve done, places they’ve been. It’s just how you make conversation. But for some reason it’s different in offices, it’s not a friendly ‘I did this’ and ‘oh, I did that too’ It seems that everyone is trying to better each other and almost all of the time it’s total bullshit. For instance, the stunning conversation that greeted me this morning

‘Oh, I feel rough today, I had twelve pints last night’ ‘What? Pussy! I had 17 last night and I feel fine!’

• NO QUESTIONS. As well as not telling me things about you, don’t ask me things about me. YOU DON’T CARE. Yes, my ears hurt when I stretched them and no, they won’t go back to normal. Yes tattoos hurt, no I don’t want to see the tribal tattoo on your back and no, I don’t care that you’re getting a sleeve of old school Japanese artwork. Yes, I have played in a band, no we weren’t ‘big’ and no, you won’t of heard of us and NO, I won’t ‘burn you a cd of our tracks’. Yes I have a cat, why does it matter what she’s called? STOP FUCKING TALKING TO ME, YOU FUCKING MORON.

• WORK HUMOUR ISN’T FUNNY. ‘Hey, hey Pete, you’ll never guess what this customer just asked me? Right, she called and asked for a valuation, so I asked for the plot number. She gave me it, but I couldn’t find it… I was looking for it for five minutes before I realised, she’d given me the county reference number, RATHER THAN the plot number!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA’ … Good one. No, no, I get it, I’m just not laughing because I have an ulcer, no, really it’s funny, you don’t need to tell me again. No, I got it, DON’T TELL ME AGAIN.

"I'm alive: there are so many people that aren't alive or have died, unfortunately. I'm alive; that's a gift, frankly. I wake up early every morning once I've had the sleep I need. I go out and make money."

“Everything I touch turns to sold”

“Excuse me Sir, you look like a sausage connoisseur."

“Come on ladies and Gentlemen, fancy a taste of my jellied eels?”

“I don’t want any arse-covering. I hate that as a practice. No arse covering – happy days!”

“I’m not a one-trick pony, I’m not a 10-trick pony, I’m a whole field of ponies – and they’re literally all running towards this job.”

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

I hate perfume adverts! For as long as I can remember there has been an influx of increasingly pretentious perfume adverts polluting our TV's like a bad smell (see what I did there?) These 30 second long ineffectual "art house" annoyances could literally be advertising anything, there is nothing in them to suggest that they represent a fragrance.Picture the scene....

Men's perfume advert

Filmed with a sepia tone, a muscular, male masturbatory aid (generally a Hollywood actor) walks through a luxurious apartment in tight boxer trunks. He is accompanied by light jazz music, creating a suave/sophisticated mood. The camera follows the man as he strolls through his yuppie paradise, focusing on his ridiculously muscular physique and expensive decor. This man personifies success, we all want to be him... at least that is what the director is aiming to make us think. He makes some coffee, turns and faces the camera and says the abstract name of the fragrance. The advert abruptly ends, and I am left completely clueless as to the purpose of this futile attempt at advertisement.

Women's perfume advert

Filmed in black and white, a malnourished woman with artificially immaculate hair and make-up walks through a deserted gothic mansion in the rain. Intense piano music features in the background, in accordance with the sombre mood that the advert is trying to create. Her face is a blank canvas, showing no emotion or purpose. The woman wanders aimlessly for a few seconds in a catwalk style, puts her finger to her lips in a "shhhhh" motion, and whispers a nonsensicle word in a French accent. "Pretentious by Chanel". Sorry you've lost me, what the fuck is going on?

What sincerely worries me about these adverts is that somebody has actually written them! I imagine a board room scene with a team of hollow cokehead marketing experts, brain storming ideas on how to create something that will suitably portray the fragrance."Black and white...make sure it's black and white. Yeah get that guy from that film, and that director....the French guy that made that film that won those awards. Urmmmm what should we call it? Something that says success, class, elegance and creates nice imagery. Cool water? Fluid Iceberg? Pour Monsieur? Yuppie por homme? Guys we've done it again!"

Both the marketing strategists and the directors churn out these ludacrously expensive adverts with no regard for a logical narrative structure, or anything that even makes any sense. But there is always one clear underlying message in these adverts that transcends gender and obscurity.....buy this perfume and people will want to have sex with you.

I understand that without "smell-o-vision" technology it is impossible to represent a scent through a visual medium, but do these adverts really have to be so pointlessly pretentious? This is an advert for a fragrance made from whale semen, crushed up beetles, crocodiles lips, urine and truffles.....this is NOT the new fucking Wes Anderson film! IDIOTS!

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

When using a busy cash machine, abide by the following rules, you prick.

DO NOT CHECK YOUR BALANCE. Everyone should know what they have in there bank. If, for some reason you don't, select the 'Cash with on screen balance' option. DO NOT check you balance and sigh/complain/check your wallet/rustle through your reciepts/count on your fingers/ask the people you're with how much money they think you will need. You are old enough to have money, therefore you should be old enough to understand how it works.

KNOW HOW MUCH YOU ARE GETTING OUT. When the cash screen comes up, press the required amount, again, as above, don't work it out there and then, you've been waitingin the queue for five minutes, you should thought about it then. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, get a tenner out and realise you need twenty and start again, once your card is out of the machine, you're done. If you need to use it again, get to the back of the queue.

NO BUTTERS. This counts for any queue, no cuttingin. No 'saving your mate/mates a place'

ONE CARD EACH. If you have more than one account and you need to get cash out of two, queue twice or use two machines etc... NEVER EVER, EVER, check your balance, sigh, check your other cards balance, sigh, check a THIRD cards balance and then go back to the FIRST ONE to get cash. THERE ARE 7 PEOPLE ON THEIR LUNCH BREAKS WAITING BEHIND YOU, YOU CUNT.

My life gets harder day by day because of pricks that can't follow the rules.

Monday, 6 December 2010

"Charity muggers" or "street fundraisers" as they prefer to be known as have been the bane of my lunchbreaks in recent times. You can't walk more than 100 yards without being approached by one of these vultures, desperately throwing themselves in front of you and demanding your time. The charity mugger's job is to use "stopping tactics" indiscriminately on the general public, and force them to hand over their bank account details in order to set up standing order donations to the charity they represent. Don't get me wrong, I believe that most charities are a worthwhile cause, I just have no patience for this intrusive method of forced donations. My reasons for hating these irritants are;

Attempting to make their targets feel guilty for not stopping to talk them. We would not tolerate this level of harrassment from a person from any other line of work, so why do we let these people guilt trip us into bending to their wills?I am not rejecting the concept of the charity that you represent, I just really don't want to stop and talk to you! They operate under the pretense that they're performng an altruistic deed, but in reality they're probably getting paid more than I am to do their JOB! Yes I said it...its a fucking job! Charity muggers are being paid a fairly decent wage, and are given quotas and performance based incentives for trapping customers.

Making judgements on my financial status based upon the items I'm holding in my hands. "£5 a month....that's 15p a day! How much did that coffee cost you?" Charity muggers have NO right to question how you choose to spend your money, and should be ashamed of themselves for doing so. In an ideal world people would have disposable incomes that they could piss away carelessly, but not everybody is lying when they say that they can't afford to give away money. Some people are unwilling to compromise on their expenses, fucking deal with it!

Trying to grab your attention with wacky dances. Why does the charity mugger think it's a good idea to act quirky and off the wall to make somebody feel comfortable with them? Doing that awkwward dance has just left me 100% less likely to want to spend even a second of my time with you. No you're not Bill Bailey, you sir are a fool!

Not disclosing the fact that they are being paid. Legally they are obliged to tell you that they are receiving a wage for their job, but I am struggling to recall one occassion that this has happened.

Reading some facts off of a leaflet does NOT make you better than me! I am sick to death of being looked down upon by these self righteous bastards, who would likely just ignore somebody like them if their roles were reversed. Anybody could revise and recite facts off a leaflet convincingly, it does not nescessarily mean that they are passionate about the subject. I find it very interesting that "street fundraiser" jobs are often advertised in newspapers and magazines for out of work actors, coincidence?

Again I reiterate, I wholly stand by the idea that charity is a good thing. Charities perform important work globally and rely on our support, but If I want to give money to a charity I will do so on my own accord....I do not need prompting by you! I am running out of ways to tell the charity muggers to leave me the fuck alone, and for putting me in this awkward situation daily I extend to you an unapologetic FUCK YOU!

Sunday, 5 December 2010

Really?!?! Still?!?!?!?! That joke wore thin 3 years ago... at least! it's not fucking funny anymore, Jesus... Get over it. You DON'T like Journey, no-one does, it's cheesy 80's shit. Get over it, you fuckwit.

i can't stand the fucking endless bumming this song gets from people. Like people are so desperate to show they like other music than punk, so they mindlessly learn the first two lines of it and go to their general rock clubnights and dance ironically to it.

Saturday, 4 December 2010

I really fucking hate how being 'random' is now somehow cool now. My TV is now completely clogged up by 'random' adverts, like this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aETAPlXAT-w&feature=player_detailpage

What the fuck is this all about?!?! It really infuriates me. It's not just adverts though, people (idiots) seem to constantly be striving to be seen as 'random' in an effort to make them seem funny or interesting and whacky. Some girl posted a facebook status this morning saying 'Randomly on a train to Leeds!!' ...Be honest, that's not random. You didn't blink and suddenly, BAM! You're on a train. You woke up and thought, 'i'm going to go to Leeds today', so you walked to the station, purchased a train ticket, waited on the platform and got on a train. NOTHING about that is random, you fuckwit.

Stupid shit like this really fucks me off too http://quizilla.teennick.com/quizzes/8738707/omg-this-is-like-so-random

I especially despise the way the writer had mixed lower and upper case letters in the title, just so you know he's REALLY cool. Christ. If you're life isn't interesting enough and you feel you need to act 'crazy' to get through the day, you are slowing down the progress of all mankind, just kill yourself.

Thursday, 2 December 2010

"Trampy Bo-ho (Bohemian)" is a style that privilidged girls have adopted to show us all that whilst they are incredibly rich, they are also incredibly hip. We've all seen them with their big fluffy 80's hair metal esque poofs, headbands, Jack Wills apparel, Ugg boots, ironic burberry, massive bags (sometimes carrying hairless freak dogs), ridiculously large earrings and pearl necklaces. They travel in packs, often with the richest and most bohemian girl being the leader of their group of sycophantic lackeys. They often have nicknames such as "Tigger" or "Pippa", which of course they have invented themselves.We all know the type, and if we're not regal enough to be part of their little clique then we all fucking hate them....at least that's what they think. No we are not jealous of your vaccuous little lives, we all just genuinely really dislike you! These are my top reasons for hating these fucking cretins;

Despite their tiny IQ's and ineptness at pretty much everything, they are incredibly confident. This confidence stems from their spoilt upbringings in which the word "No" has never been used. This sickening amount of self confidence causes them to look down on everybody, and treat anybody they meet as their lesser. Sorry but the feudal sysyem doesn't exist anymore, I can tell you what a fucking idiot you are without the fear of having my head chopped off by your uncle the King!

They wear their pyjamas to the shops to buy choccies, fags and wine and have a "totalllllly Bridget Jones night LOL". "OMG why is everyone looking at us?" We are all looking at you because to put it simply you look like a moron, and you are deperately trying to get a reaction out of everybody. Just do us all a favour and stay indoors yeah?

"Oh yahhhh I don't make any effort to look like this, this is just what my hair looks like in the morning". REALLY? Sorry but we all realise that in actuality it took you a long time to perfect that "shagged backwards through a bush" look.....and honey I hate to break it to you but you look ridiculous. What would the polo club thing of your rogueish fashion style?

Their male friends all have double barrelled surnames, and wouldn't look out of place if their heads were super imposed onto a portrait of an Edwardian prince. They like nothing more than breaking out renditions of old rugby songs and playing games such as "toss the biscuit" to bring back nostalgic memories of their private boarding school days.

Basically the sooner that you enter a loveless marriage with a rich man, fuck off to a counry manor, force out a couple of equally cretinous children, eventually develop a massive alcohol dependency and drop dead the better!

I don't feel like I need to say anything, just look at them. Fuck off PUNX, you glorified hippies.

I really hate punx. I've never met a more useless group of people. Walking around telling everyone that they're just copycats and all look the same as each other, whilst you and your mates all wear leather jackets with 'Leftover Crack' written on them in Tip Ex, over a Casualties t-shirt and your awful bondage trousers with zips that go nowhere, topped off with your fucking retarded Mohawks. Shouting stupid slogans like 'smash the state' and 'fuck the police' before cashing in your (state funded) giro and going back to living in your parents' basement.

To top it all, punk, or at least the god awful 'street punk' that these cretins listen to is the WORST type of music ever. Casualties? Shit. GBH? Shit. Cocksparrer? Shit. UK Subs? Shit. Discharge? Shit. Lower Class Brats? Shit. It's all fucking shit.

If you want to spend your life sitting on street corners, drinking cider, fine. But make sure you drink enough to make you choke and drown in your own vomit, you dirty, smelly fucking hippy pricks. FUCK OFF.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

Fuck this weather. I hate this time of year, it's cold and it's dark and it's dank and it snows. I FUCKING HATE SNOW.

I realise almost NO-ONE will agree with me about this, but like i give one.

My problem with snow is threefold. One, it's fucking cold. I know this is obvious, but i despise the cold. I cannot for the life of me understand how anyone likes it. People are not supposed to operate in this climate. Your extremities freeze up, your skin hurts, your limbs get stiff, you lose your balance and fall over breaking your bones, you get frost bite and your fingers fall off. This is bullshit, that stuff doesn't happen in warm weather.I know you can wrap up warm, but i don't see why i should have to put on all of my clothes so i can leave my house.

Secondly, as much as i hate the snow and will do my best to avoid leaving the house, i power through. If i need to get up, out of my warm bed, i do. I leave my wonderful warm flat with my cat and i walk to work. I bitch and moan the whole time, but I POWER THROUGH. I heard something on the radio today about how a call centre in Leeds had only 10% of workers turn up. What the fuck?! It's only frozen water, not a nuclear fallout. Sort your life out and get up off your fat and lazy ass and go to work. No buses? Walk. Car stuck on the drive? Walk. GO TO FUCKING WORK.

Lastly, and most importantly, i despise the way people romanticise winter and snow. How people seem to think that the world is now somehow more beautiful covered in two inches of frozen toilet water. I can't count the amount of status updates and new pictures I've seen on facebook of people in the snow. Pictures of snow men. 'Arty' pictures of peoples streets (and for the record, taking a picture on your iphone, through the 'Hispanic' filter, does not make something art). It's fucking bullshit.

The world covered in snow is a cold and miserable place. I realise this post might not be very articulate, but I'm cold and my fingers won't work properly. Fuck the cold, and fuck you if you like it.

"What's that.....oh this old thing? It's only a ruddy chestpiece! I didn't think anyone would notice..."

Ahhhh the v-neck chestpiece combo, this has been one of my pet hates for some time now. I regularly see these buffoons strolling around in their low cut tops desperately trying to attract attention to the scroll or wings that they've strategically managed to reveal. In my eyes this is the male equivalent to wearing a croptop to show off your belly button piercing or slagtag. What next? Men wearing see through jeggings to show off other tattoos? Or more alarmingly are we eventually going to see this?

In the last 20 years the popularity of fine dining has surged due to endless celebrity chef's and TV cooking shows showing us commoners how to slap together a meal fit for a fucking French prince. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy food and love to cook but a side effect of this popularity has left a large population of "foodies" to believe that they are better than the average Briton. Terms such as "haute cuisine", "nouvelle cuisine" and "ones palate" are thrown around by these truffle sniffers in an attempt to prove that yes...they are better than the likes of you.

Eating out in restaurants used to be a leisurely activity, but this bastardisation of foodie pop culture has transformed an innocent past time into a social competition. The pursuit of good food is merely a front for foood snobs to stroke their own ego's and lord their vast knowledge of cuisine over people that are so ignorant that they use velveeta when its obvious they should be using aged cheddar. "Oh yahhh you simply haven't lived til you've eaten at Heston Blumenthal's restaurant and had the ducks brain jelly and venison ice cream". REALLY? Sounds fucking rank!

The food snob enjoys portion sizes that are frankly smaller than my penis, yet they cost more than a weeks supermarket shopping. HOW DID THAT FILL YOU UP? Restaurants that serve these pathetic sized portions are commiting daylight robbery on the unsuspecting foodie, as they realise that there is no limit on the price they can charge these oak smoked with a hint of Autumn wine quaffing morons in their pursuit of cultural elitism.

The food snob will only buy organic foods from select supermarkets, and will insist that they will not eat any produce that has not been grown in such a way. They also take great interest in the rearing of the animal that they're picking apart like vultures. "Yahhhh this lamb is simply delightful, it was reared in a beatiful field in Somerset and fed nothing but lemongrass and coriander". FUCK OFF!

Every day people compromise on their diet due to convenience and expense, this does not make them ignorant or in any way beneath you. There will always be those that try and stay ahead of the trends by discovering more prestigious/expensive ingredients, this definitely does not mean that the quality of your food is better.